


The Eve of Battle

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [24]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abandon all hope ye who enter here, Angst, Dark, Dark Ritual, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear of Death, Guilt, Heavy Angst, M/M, So much angst, Theron is terrified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan has a very heavy proposal for Theron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eve of Battle

Theron felt like the journey to his room from Riordan’s took a lifetime, even though it was just down the corridor. According to the most senior member out of the three remaining Grey Wardens, if he killed the Archdemon he would sacrifice himself in the process. At the end of the battle it would either be himself, Alistair or Riordan who would die along with the Archdemon; it was the only way to end the Blight.

Theron pushed the door shut behind him, and started when he realised he wasn’t alone in the room, as he’d hoped. This time it was Morrigan, of all people, rather than Zevran waiting for him.

She was standing in front of the large fire that warmed the guest room, but she turned when the door shut.

“Do not be alarmed. It is only I.”

“I gathered that.” Theron replied dryly, leaning back against the door a little warily. Morrigan had actively sought him out for something? “Is everything okay?” He asked.

The witch looked down at her hands.

“I am fine. I came to speak with you. I have a plan, you see. A way out. The… Loop to your hole.” She answered, turning and looking up at the frowning Dalish elf. Had she been eavesdropping just before? Was that why she was waiting in his room?

“I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you.”

“So you were listening outside the door to the Grey Wardens discussing private affairs?”

She hesitated. “I have come to tell you that it does not need to be.” Morrigan continued, ignoring the barbed question.

“Forget it. We’re not going to let Alistair sacrifice himself. He still has a claim to the throne, even though Anora is queen. Riordan is the most senior, and is perhaps the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden who knows how to do the Joining ritual. I am an outcast from my own people, I can never return to them and I have no place anywhere else in Thedas. If anyone should die with the Archdemon, it must be me.” Theron replied, reaching back for the door handle, to open it and politely suggest that Morrigan leave. The witch shook her head stubbornly, folding her arms, and then began to slowly walk forwards.

“I offer a way out, for you and all of the Grey Wardens.” She began to explain, stopping a respectful distance away from the ranger, watching him carefully as if he was going to bolt if she took another step closer. “That there need be no sacrifice, now or ever. A ritual, performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.”

Theron chuckled humorlessly.

“I never knew you were into blood magic. Do we need a goat, or some hapless person?” He asked scathingly. Morrigan frowned at him.

“Tis something older than that. From before the Circle of Magi was created, in fact. Some ignorants would call it blood magic, I confess, but it is but a name, and there is more to fear in this world than names.”

Theron shifted his weight to one leg, folding his arms over his chest and feeling his new scars pulling with a twinge of pain.

“Where did you learn about this ritual?”

“From Flemeth, of course. I have known for some time.”

The ranger could have sworn that Morrigan looked almost apologetic. So, she hadn’t actually been listening into a private conversation?

“You knew I would have to sacrifice myself before Riordan told me.” He sighed. That… That explained it. She _had_ been waiting for him, expecting him. Waiting for this very conversation, in fact. For how long?

“I did.” Morrigan nodded slowly, and the look she gave Theron was strange on her face, almost pitying, almost sad. She had known for longer than anyone that he was to die. “But would you have believed me if I had been the one to tell you? I have my doubts.”

“Fair point.” The black-haired man nodded, finally stepping away from the door. Morrigan seemed to relax at that, and kept still as the ranger approached. “Okay, tell me more.”

“What I propose is this.” Morrigan began, turning and going to sit on the bed. “Lay with me. Here, tonight. And from our joining, a child will be conceived.” She ignored the look of shock on Theron’s face, and kept talking, kept explaining, trying to make him see. “The child will bear the taint, and when the Archdemon is slain its essence will seek the child out like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

Theron stood for a few seconds, staring at Morrigan blankly until he sat down on a chair by the fire.

“You want me to… Lie with you.” He repeated slowly, unsure if he had imagined hearing that. “Even though you know full well I’m with Zevran? And not remotely interested in…” The ranger forced himself to keep his eyes on Morrigan’s face, those golden eyes, but he made a vague gesture towards her body anyway.

“I would have thought your sentimentality towards that failed assassin would be a good reason why you should survive. And if you took the fatal blow, how do you think he would react to that? To seeing your body and realising you were dead?" The witch pointed out, and she shrugged. “If you are unwilling, I can go to Alistair instead.”

Theron let out a sigh, looking up towards the high ceiling.

“But Grey Wardens are sterile.” He countered, and the witch tilted her head at him.

“If twere a problem, do you think I would be suggesting this ritual?” She asked.

“Hm. So, what about… The child?”

Attempting to think of it as his own was too much for the ranger to comprehend right now.

“What about it?”

“Well, would it be a darkspawn?”

Theron shifted uncomfortably in the seat, remembering the Deep Roads and the broodmother.

“Not at all. It will become something different; a child born with the soul of an Old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. _Ever._ The child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

“Can I have a few minutes to think about it before I make my decision?”

“If you must.” Morrigan sighed, sounding and looking mildly irritated.

Had she really expected him to blindly say yes? Could he even say yes? It wasn’t just because the idea of… Lying with _Morrigan_ was unappealing - as much as they seemed to dislike each other, Theron had figured that they were some measure of friends. Was that why she was offering this ritual to save his life? As a friend?

Half of his reluctance came from the fact that, well, Theron had never been physically attracted to women as far as he could remember. Of course, he had joked and commented with Tamlen about some of the eligible women from other clans they had met, but that had been during the bluster and awkwardness of adolescence, and because it had allowed him to spend time with Tamlen chasing his vain hopes that could never be realised. He had never even been with a woman before, only Zevran. He didn’t want to change that with Morrigan.

Creators, Zevran. Theron glanced towards the shut door guiltily. He knew that the other elf was elsewhere on the estate, probably still at the dinner Riordan had dragged him and Alistair from, but the idea that he might unexpectedly walk in during the ritual… How could he explain that? How would the Antivan take it, after all the times Theron had said that he had only ever been interested in him? And with _Morrigan_? Theron felt a lump of guilt form in his stomach, even though he hadn’t even decided anything. He could say no, Morrigan would probably leave, and he would die with the Archdemon.

Would it be selfish if he said yes, purely so he could live to grow old with Zevran? Was that such an abhorrent wish? He assumed that, as with any other Grey Warden business, he would not be able to tell the others how he had survived. Perhaps he could put it down to the Creators watching over him, some kind of divine miracle? But that felt blasphemous. What Morrigan was suggesting they do - the ritual, the child that she seemed certain would result from this with the soul of an Old God - none of it seemed like something any gods bar Fen'Harel would look benevolently on.

Was he a coward if he wanted to live rather than die? Was anyone? Did anyone truly want to die? Zevran didn’t any longer, he seemed to have finally accepted that his life was truly worth something. But what if he died? Would the blond go back to Antiva and return to his old ways of hidden self-loathing and death seeking? Or would he do something more immediate and worse?

“What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work, and it _will_ save your life.” Morrigan spoke up, disrupting Theron’s chain of thought completely.

“Am I a selfish coward if I accept it?” The ranger shot back, running a hand over his braids. He looked up at the witch, felt himself pinned by those golden eyes, and took a deep breath. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, quicker than normal due to his nerves and the inescapable feeling of pressure as his stomach writhed. He had to decide now.

He had to decide if he should accept Morrigan’s offer and cheat on Zevran to ensure he survived after the Archdemon fell, or if he should say no and die. A cold bolt of fear thought through him. He didn’t want to die.

“You are simply a man who wants to live. Some things are worth preserving in this world; make of that what you will.” Morrigan replied calmly. “But you can always say no.” She added. Theron blinked at her. He wanted to say no, so much. He would say no to all of this, if only he could live. But if he said no, then Morrigan would leave, and his chance would be gone. No-one else would proposition him in exchange for his life.

The ranger swallowed thickly, looking away from those intent eyes as his stomach rolled. He was afraid. Afraid of dying? Or afraid of Morrigan?

“All right. I agree. I’ll do it.” His voice sounded too soft, too low to be his own, but he heard himself say it anyway. He was a coward. Perhaps the ritual would fail, and he would die regardless?

Morrigan stood up, the briefest hint of a relieved smile crossing over her face.

“A wise decision.” She replied softly, walking over to the door and locking it.

 

When Morrigan joined him on the bed, Theron found himself instinctively edging back until he was half-sitting up against the headboard, watching the human warily and not liking the almost predatory gleam in her eyes. He felt like a halla, caught in the web of a giant spider, too ensnared to do anything but watch his death approach at it’s leisure. And in a way, he was. She knelt over him, smelling of ice and ozone - her magic, and for an alarming moment the ranger thought she was going to kiss him. But she didn’t, and instead leaned over to blow out the candle on the bedside table, leaving the soft glow of the firelight behind her to light the room.

“I would suggest lying back and thinking of Zevran.” Morrigan quietly commented as she knelt over him.

Theron tried, but whenever he tried to align his thoughts to reality the hips under his fingers were too curved, there was a softness to skin he was unaccustomed to, there were no scars or defined muscles from years of physical training and fighting for him to trace, no husky voice whispering Antivan nothings in his ear, no calloused fingers knowing precisely where to explore or where not to. There was the faint tingle of magic running under his touch, completely unfamiliar and alarming.

It was over mercifully soon.

 

“Will I ever see you again?” Theron asked, staring down at the cold bedroom floor beneath his bare feet, his back politely to the witch as he sat on the far edge of the freshly made bed.

“After the Archdemon has been slain? No. No, you will never see me again. Tis… Better that way.” She replied, adjusting her robes and hair in the vanity mirror at the other end of the room. She’d noticed how Theron had at some point earlier in their stay tossed a length of cloth over it to hide the reflective surface, and ensured that she carefully put the cover back over it when she was done.

“Oh.”

He sat completely still, as if he was afraid of drawing her attention again with any sudden movements. The room was quiet, and then it was only a mild surprise when he heard the door unlock and open.

“Will you come with me to face the Archdemon?” He asked, and Morrigan paused in the doorway, one hand keeping the door open.

“If that is what you wish.” She nodded, and then left the Dalish elf alone with his thoughts.

 

If Theron had not asked her to stay and fight with him, Morrigan would have vanished from civilisation then and there, taken the form of a bird and escaped to some forgotten wilderness. She walked calmly and silently down the corridor as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, ignoring the sounds of late night revelry as she passed by the main hall where the rest of the group were. Of course, they were oblivious to everything outside the room, caught up in celebrating a Landsmeet that had fallen in their favour.

The witch wondered if the ranger would tell Zevran, when she caught the sound of his distinctive cackle floating through the open door. She passed through the light that spilled from the room, and slipped away into the shadows beyond.

She only stopped when she had found her way out onto a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, bathed in moonlight and shadows. Everything was still, the world holding it’s breath, or in disapproving silence. Carefully, uncertainly, she reached a hand down to rest over her stomach, as if she would be able to feel the old magic working inside her, seed taking root.

The child… _Their_ child would be elf-blooded, would look human for all intents and purposes. Would it be as pale as her, or would it have uncommon dark skin like Theron? Somewhere between? It would have black hair, certainly. It… A boy or a girl? A small, faceless idea still, nowhere near real and solid.

The Dalish elf had looked terrified when he had accepted the offer, had kept his eyes shut throughout. Morrigan had not taken it personally. He had allowed her to do as she wished to him. There had been no passion between them, and Morrigan had not expected there to be.

She had considered leaving the room before Theron had entered, perhaps approaching Alistair despite being fully aware of how much he disliked her, let alone her own feelings towards the puppyish oaf. The ex-Templar would have had some unbearably romantic notion about duty and taking the killing blow, being hailed as a hero after death like a good martyr. Wholly unsuited to the reality of war, and so much like Cailan, even though his intentions were good.

She had already consulted Flemeth’s grimoire again, tried to find an illusion spell that would for all appearances change the caster’s gender in the eyes of any onlookers for a night. Sadly, there had not been one.

Theron… She cared about him. After everything they had been through, after seeing him with Zevran, she had known there was no chance for her budding feelings to be anything but that after the mirror incident so long ago now had forced her eyes open. They were something to be shut away, allowed to wither and die of neglect in the dark. She had resigned herself to instead hope that they could be friends, if anything. She had never imagined being able to consider anyone a friend before.

 _This_ had changed matters between them. She was genuinely surprised that he had asked her to fight beside him; she had not imagined he would have wanted her to stay with him for longer than necessary.

Morrigan hung her head, shame washing over her. Was this how a friend treated another friend? Yes, if he had refused Theron would have died, and if he was not careful may still anyway. The ritual did not make him invulnerable to an ogre’s swipes or the maw of a dragon. He could have said no - she had told him as much, had given him time to decide. She had felt hollow when he had actually said yes. Had it been her words about Zevran that had made him decide, had pushed him to a decision?

The witch lowered her hand from her stomach, looking down at the courtyard. He had accepted, but throughout he had been clearly reluctant and _afraid_ of her. He had no wish to lie with any woman, and yet he had made himself do it anyway.

Morrigan blinked away the sudden threat of tears. She had often complied when men expressed a physical interest in her, if it suited her goals. She had not truly experienced pleasure from the act, in times past or now. This time there had been no such interest from the man to begin with. She had been the one to go to him, offer the way out to him. Had she used the ranger for her own goals as she had so many times in the past, to beget this child that soon would have the essence of an Old God running through it?

She pressed a hand to her mouth tightly as a tear fell uncontrollably, unseen in the night. She had used Theron as if he was a stranger. She had intended it to be a kindness, a friend giving another the chance at life, had done it for his sake. He had only done it out of his love for Zevran. So he would survive to see that foolish assassin laugh and smile with him again. If he had had the choice to survive the fight without accepting the ritual, he most likely would have taken it.

He had not wanted it, but she had forced him to do it regardless. That businesslike, impersonal act made all the more bitter by unwillingness and fear. He had suffered in silence.

They both did now.

 

Theron jumped guiltily when the door was pushed open around five minutes later, standing up automatically. Thankfully, Zevran didn’t seem to notice immediately that anything was amiss, wandering in with a half full glass of Antivan brandy in hand.

“Ready for bed so soon?” The Antivan asked with a smile, glancing over the ranger’s light cotton trousers in some amusement.

Theron blinked hard, and then sat back down on the bed again. Zevran’s gentle smile faded, replaced by a confused frown at the sombre mood in the room.

“You seem distracted, _mi amor_.” He commented, setting the glass down on top of a dresser and walking over to the bed, pausing on the other side to the ranger. “Tense, in fact. If you want, I could…”

The Dalish elf shook his head, cutting off the seductive offer of a massage followed by a ‘massage’. The guilt was thick in his stomach, a lump in his throat. It made his eyes sting. But he couldn’t tell Zevran anything. Not that he was worried about possibly dying anyway during the battle that was rearing up on the horizon with a gaping maw stretched wide enough to swallow them all whole. Not what had just happened, what Morrigan had made him do.

“No, no. I’m fine. Can we just… Cuddle?” He asked, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking as badly as it sounded to his own ears.

Zevran raised an eyebrow at the slightly unusual, unexpected request, but nodded slowly as he began to unbutton his shirt.

“Of course. You do not wish to do anything else tonight?”

“No! I… I mean, no.”

The ranger’s unexpected outburst made the blond pause in taking his plainclothes off, confusion and mild concern turning to worry at how odd Theron was suddenly acting.

“Are you worried about the battle?” He asked as he slipped into bed, gently patting the mattress beside him when the ranger didn’t lie down next to him.

Theron hesitated, chewing his lip.

“Yes.” He replied, grasping at the provided cover, slowly lying back down and turning to face the former Crow. He was a _coward_. “You know how you had no option but to do _anything_ the Crows told you to, whether you liked it or not?” The ranger asked, hiding his face against Zevran’s bare chest. He felt sick with guilt, unclean. He was a selfish coward. He should have said no, should have told her to leave. It was his fault, for saying yes in the first place, for even considering it. He should die tomorrow. There was honour in that.

“Ah yes, when I did anything and everything the Crows asked of me like a good trained pet. Why?”

“... Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

Theron closed his eyes, wanting only to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll understand if people hate me for this.


End file.
